Son of Blood Read Free Page A

the concubines of the fighting men along to cook and wash for them, as well as the usual flotsam of urchins and layabouts that attended every army on the move regardless of their country of origin. The difference with the Normans was their abilityto detach themselves from this trailing mass of humanity and become a highly mobile and self-sustaining fighting force; in short, they could maintain themselves in the field, move quickly and use surprise as well as ability to confound their enemies.
    Ademar, standing with and dwarfed by Bohemund, executed a half bow as his liege lord approached, though he examined him carefully for signs of wear; the Guiscard was in his late fifties and had been at war now for close to thirty years, from his days as a near-bandit chief living from hand to mouth in the wilds of Calabria to the man who headed armies that dwarfed the one he now led. Yet apart from some grey in his long, red-gold hair and an increase in the lines on his cheeks there seemed little evidence of him being in any way diminished.
    Tall and burly, his eyes still had a twinkle that hinted at his mischievous nature, for he was always game for a jest and a bout of good-humoured wrestling, which stood in contrast to a fearsome temper to which he could switch in a blink of an eye. Robert de Hauteville was mercurial, not much given to open disclosure of his thinking, and as brave as a lion, a man to inspire love in many and loathing in others, generous one second and as mean as the most grasping miser the next.
    Now they were close, Ademar could see in the midst of the familia knights a fellow in a scuffed leather jerkin and woollen leggings, bareheaded, filthy and chained to the pommel on his saddle and his stirrups. To Ademar’s mind Peter of Trani, who also held the title of Lord of Corato, deserved to be strung up to the nearest tree for his betrayal of his liege lord. It was Robert who had granted him every one of his possessions – the captaincy and high revenues of the important pilgrim port of Trani, as well as the demesne before which they were now assembled.
    It was Robert who had shown Peter favour, raised him from one of his body of personal knights to a level to which all of his close followers aspired. The reward was to be betrayed while his liege lord was occupied in Sicily; Peter, in concert with other barons, raising their standards in revolt. Naturally, there were disgruntled Lombards, like those at Noci, who had taken advantage of that to launch their own bid for autonomy and paid a high price for their lack of fealty.
    The look of disgust aimed at the prisoner was broken by the Guiscard ’s gruff voice. ‘I had hoped to see you inside those walls, Ademar.’
    Was that a jest or a gripe? Ademar could not tell, yet the Duke could not fail to notice his diminished numbers. ‘I prefer my head on my shoulders, not raised on an enemy spear.’
    The Guiscard’ s eyes flicked to the firepits where several carcasses were being roasted on spits – wild boar and deer – filling the air with their sizzling juices, and his tone was not benign. ‘Yet I see you have attempted nothing but to fill your belly.’
    ‘It was your belly I intended to fill, My Lord. We hunted hard so you would be fed on arrival.’
    ‘Noci you have secured?’
    ‘I presume my messenger informed you of that.’ The Duke nodded and slid easily out of his saddle, one of his knights having dismounted himself to hold the bridle. ‘He will also have told you of the bravery of your son, given I instructed him to do so.’
    The ducal eyes moved to Bohemund and the leonine head nodded, though not with much fervour. ‘A veritable Achilles, your man said.’
    Robert de Hauteville was a giant in his own right, not accustomed to have to look up to anyone, but as he approached Bohemund he was obliged to do just that: he could not fail to be impressed by hisbuild. Yet there was no way he was going to let that show and, given the youngster was not about